kettle simmering on the hook. We raked open the fire, put on the
saucepan, and in it the best of our plums, with water enough to
spoil them. But we did n’t know that, and felt very important as we
sat waiting for it to boil, each armed with a big spoon, while the
sugar box stood between us ready to be used.
“How slow they were, to be sure! I never knew such obstinate
things, for they would n’t soften, though they danced about in the
boiling water, and bobbed against the cover as if they were doing
their best.
“The sun began to get low, we were afraid Debby would come
down, and still those dreadful plums would n’t look like sauce. At
last they began to burst, the water got a lovely purple, we put lots
of sugar in, and kept tasting till our aprons and faces were red, and
our lips burnt with the hot spoons.
“‘There ‘s too much juice,’ said Nelly, shaking her head wisely. ‘It
ought to be thick and nice like mamma’s.’ “‘I ‘ll pour off some of
the juice, and we can drink it,’ said I, feeling that I ‘d made a
mistake in my cooking.
“So Nelly got a bowl, and I got a towel and lifted the big saucepan
carefully off. It was heavy and hot, and I was a little afraid of it,
but did n’t like to say so. Just as I began to pour, Debby suddenly
called from the top of the stairs, ‘Children, what under the sun are
you doing?’ “It startled us both. Nelly dropped the bowl and ran. I
dropped the saucepan and did n’t run, for a part of the hot juice
splashed upon my bare feet, and ankles, and made me scream with
dreadful pain.
“Down rushed Debby to find me dancing about the kitchen with a
great bump on my forehead, a big spoon in my hand, and a pair of
bright purple feet. The plums were lying all over the hearth, the
saucepan in the middle of the room, the basin was broken, and the
sugar swimming about as if the bowl had turned itself over trying
to sweeten our mess for us.
“Debby was very good to me, for she never stopped to scold, but
laid me down on the old sofa, and bound up my poor little feet
with oil and cotton wool. Nelly, seeing me lie white and weak,
thought I was dying, and went over to the neighbor’s for Aunt
Betsey, and burst in upon the old ladies sitting primly at, their tea,
crying, distractedly, ” ‘Oh, Aunt Betsey, come quick! for the
saucepan fell off the shed, and Fan’s feet are all boiled purple!’
“Nobody laughed at this funny message, and Aunt Betsey ran all
the way home with a muffin in her hand and her ball in her pocket,
though the knitting was left behind.
“I suffered a great deal, but I was n’t sorry afterward, for I learned
to love Aunt Betsey, who nursed me tenderly, and seemed to forget
her strict ways in her anxiety for me.
“This bag was made for my special comfort, and hung on the sofa
where I lay all those weary days. Aunt kept it full of pretty
patchwork or, what I liked better, ginger-nuts, and peppermint
drops, to amuse me, though she did n’t approve of cosseting
children up, any more than I do now.”
“I like that vewy well, and I wish I could have been there,” was
Maud’s condescending remark, as she put back the little bag, after
a careful peep inside, as if she hoped to find an ancient ginger-nut,
or a well-preserved peppermint drop still lingering in some corner.
“We had plums enough that autumn, but did n’t seem to care much
about them, after all, for our prank became a household joke, and,
for years, we never saw the fruit, but Nelly would look at me with
a funny face, and whisper, ‘Purple stockings, Fan!’ ”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Polly. “Now, Fan, your turn next.”
“Well, I ‘ve a bundle of old letters, and I ‘d like to know if there is